Consolation to Apollonius (34-35)

For that virtuous men die in the prime of their years by the kindness of the Gods, to whom they are peculiarly

dear, I have already told thee in the former part of my discourse, and will give a short hint of it now, bearing witness to that which is so prettily said by Menander:— He whom the Gods do love dies young.

But perhaps, my dear Apollonius, thou wilt thus object to me: My young Apollonius was blessed by fortune in his life, and I ought first to have died that he might bury me; for this is according to nature. According to our human nature, I confess; but Providence hath other measures, and that supreme order which governs the world is very different; for thy son being now made happy, it was not requisite according to nature that he should tarry in this life longer than the time prefixed him, but that, having consummated the term of his duration, he should perform his fatal journey, Nature recalling him to herself. But he died untimely, youmay say. Upon that account he is the happier, not having been sensible of those evils which are incident to life. For Euripides said truly:—

The time of being here we style amiss;

We call it life, but truly labor ’tis.

Thy Apollonius died in the beautiful flower of his years, a youth in all points perfect, who gained the love, and provoked the emulation of all his contemporaries He was dutiful to his father and mother, obliging to his domestics, was a scholar, and (to comprehend all in a word) he was a lover of mankind. He had a veneration for the old men that were his friends, as if they had been his parents, had an affection for his companions and equals, reverenced his instructors, was hospitable and mild to his guests and strangers, gracious to all, and beloved by all, as well for his attractive countenance as for his lovely affability. Therefore, being accompanied with the applauses of thy piety and his own, he hath only made a digression from this mortal life to eternity, as if he had withdrawn from the entertainment before he grew absurd, and before the staggerings

of drunkenness came upon him, which are incident to a long old age. Now if the sayings of the old philosophers and poets are true, as there is probability to think, that honors and high seats of dignity are conferred upon the righteous after they are departed this life, and if, as it is said, a particular region is appointed for their souls to dwell in, you ought to cherish very fair hopes that your son stands numbered amongst those blest inhabitants.

Of the state of the pious after death, Pindar discourseth after this manner:—

There the sun shines with an unsullied light,

When all the world below is thick with night.

There all the richly scented plants do grow,

And there the crimson-colored roses blow;

Each flower blooming on its tender stalk,

And all these meadows are their evening walk.

There trees peculiarly delight the sense,

With their exhaled perfumes of frankincense.

The boughs their noble burdens cannot hold,

The weight must sink them when the fruit is gold.

Some do the horse unto the manege bring,

Others unto tlle tuneful lute do sing;

There’s plenty to excess of every thing.

The region always doth serene appear,

The sun and pious flames do make it clear,

Where fragrant gums do from the altars rise,

When to the Gods they offer sacrifice.

And proceeding farther, in another lamentation he spake thus concerning the soul:—

Just we that distribution may call,

Which to each man impartially doth fall.

It doth decide the dull contentious strife,

And easeth the calamities of life.

Death doth its efforts on the body spend;

But the aspiring soul doth upwards tend.

Nothing can damp that bright and subtile flame,

Immortal as the Gods from whence it came.

But this sometimes a drowsy nap will take,

When all the other members are awake.

Fancy in various dreams doth to it show,

What punishments unto each crime is due;

What pleasures are reserved for pious deeds,

And with what scourges the incestuous bleeds.